Truth Be Told
by claraoswelve
Summary: Whouffle Prompt: Something with dark Eleven, like before Trenzalore, he's frustrated for Clara's impossibility because he have no idea, who she is. So he ask her. But not gently at all.


The bits of dark brown hair falling over his forehead were slightly damp from the stressful, frustrated fretting that drew on through the night. The anxiety was building with every moment he spent with the girl. Every time he looked into her eyes, every time he held her considerably small hand, and every time he heard her voice. Anything that proved in the moment that she was _there _and that she was _real._

Because all those things were all fake. She couldn't be real. She couldn't be just a sweet little girl from Blackpool. She wasn't possible! She couldn't be there, after having been two different people two different times. She was a scared young woman in a shipwreck who selflessly gave her life for him. Then she was a Victorian barmaid and governess, who once again _died _to save him.

The Doctor wondered if maybe that was part of it. That maybe it was the fact that she not only died, but died _for him _on both occasions that he'd met her. What sort of trick was this? Work her way into his hearts, into his mind, allow him to become so immersed in such a mystery that it completely consumed him? Completely distracted him? Then what? What would happen then?

Because she wasn't a normal girl. She simply wasn't possible.

But yet, in some wild, crazy way, she was. She was totally and completely normal. His Clara... what on earth could she be?

The Doctor's gaze wandered across the console room to where she was currently exploring the many controls on the TARDIS console. The way her eyes sparkled with interest just caused his hearts to break into pieces. She _seemed _so normal. No, not normal, but not in a bad way. She was special. Adventurous. Kind. _Perfect._

_Too_ perfect.

If this _did _turn out to be some sort of trap, Clara Oswald was the greatest actress he'd ever seen.

The Doctor found his hands automatically fiddling with the monitor when his mind wandered off on that specific subject. He'd flip back and forth between the few images he'd scrambled up of both Oswin Oswald and Clara Oswin Oswald, as well as a few of his Clara that he'd managed while exploring her timeline.

He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face and the side of his neck. He was tired. Mentally exhausted. He'd never faced such an enigma like this. He felt a bit unsafe for some reason with the girl traipsing regularly about his home, yet at the same time he felt far too relaxed to do anything about it.

It wasn't like he could just throw her out. He considered it sometimes, he had to admit. Because what if this was what she wanted? What if the whole idea was to gain his trust and affection, then deliver a final blow when he was least expecting?

No. It was too simple. Far too simple and unreasonable for such a drastic mystery. Besides. He could never simply kick her out. Every time he looked into her eyes he was reminded of that. Because there was always the possibility that she believed her own lie. That she was just as much a victim in this as he was.

When would he ever know?

"Doctor."

The single word trembled slightly, hitched with worry and unease. The Doctor twisted around, chin tucked, brow lowered, to catch sight of Clara looking at the monitor over his shoulder. Her lips were parted as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't bring herself to it. Her eyes flickered back and forth from him to the monitor, again and again, confusion filling her gaze. She nodded in the direction of the two pictures, Oswin and Victorian Clara, that were lit up side by side on the screen.

"What is this?"

His hearts were pounding. His lips felt chapped and his mouth dry. He didn't know what to say.

"Doctor." Clara clenched her teeth and crossed her arms, trying to hide the wary waver in her voice. "What is this?"

This was his chance. This was his chance to finally confront her. Finally find out what the hell she was. The words were right behind his lips, ready to spew out in a flurry of frustrated rage. Several tense moments passed before they finally broke free from his mouth, spilling out quickly and high in volume.

"Just tell me who you are." The statement was simple, but firm. His nonexistent eyebrows were lowered and his fists were pressed against his thighs.

Clara's face contorted in the most bewildered expression imaginable. "You know who I am!"

"No I don't. I look at you every day and I don't understand a thing about you!" He pushed past her and stormed off a few steps, then just turned and bore his emotionally exhausted eyes into hers. "_Why _do I keep running into you?!"

"Doctor, you invited me. You said-"

"Before that. In the Dalek Asylum. There was a girl in a shipwreck and she died saving my life. And she was you!" He shouted.

"She really wasn't."

"Victorian London. There was a governess who was really a barmaid and we fought the great intelligence together. She died and it was my fault. And _she was you._"

"You're scaring me." Clara backed away a few steps but the Doctor was right on top of her.

"What are you, eh? A trick? _A trap_?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" She cried, backing all the way until she ran into the console, wincing as the jagged controls pressed against her back. Her breathing was quick and shallow over a fear of the man she'd grown to trust with her life. She cowered under the fierce gaze that she'd never seen him give anyone... not even his enemies. Her hands clenched the edge of the console as she looked straight into his eyes, worried she might be knocked over from his words alone.

The Doctor backed away, features relaxing ever so slightly. He turned around and paced a few straight lines in different directions, hand skimming across his face. When he faced her again, he was smiling.

"You really don't, do you?" The relief was apparent in his voice just as much as his expression. He seemed almost on the verge of laughing. "You're just Clara."

Her hands were now raised slightly, fingers lightly placed against his chest in the worry she may have to shove him away. She remained silent, but her heart also managed to slow from its frantic rhythm. Before she could react anymore, she was being tugged against the Doctor's chest. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed his face into her shoulder, sighing with closed eyes.

"Okay. I don't understand what the hell is going on, but the hug is really nice."

He continued to hold her for a good while, under Clara began to grow uncomfortable and drew back. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." He was laughing now, palm resting against her cheek and thumb lightly moving back and forth above her eye. "I'm sorry."

Clara smiled and raised her hand to cover his, lowering back down before clasping it in both of hers. "Let's just focus on one thing at a time, yeah? Maybe when you're a bit calmed down you can explain all this nonsense to me."

He simply nodded, hand snaking around to the back of her neck so he could pull her close and plant a quick kiss on her forehead. "Yeah."


End file.
